


The Thanksgiving Holiday Special

by hecate_01



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecate_01/pseuds/hecate_01
Summary: The Phantom of the Opera characters celebrate Thanksgiving together.This was for a discord fanfiction contest.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	The Thanksgiving Holiday Special

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Swearing, fist fighting.

The long, winding road guided Raoul’s car through the countryside, between rolling green hills, past trees adorned with flaming red and golden leaves, and up a steep incline. They haven’t encountered a single car for the past few miles.

“Are we heading in the right direction, Raoul?”

“Yeah, Christine. The GPS says so, and I’ve driven up to Firmin and Andre’s place several times before.”

“Why do they live so far out?” Christine asked as she nuzzled into her tan, corduroy jacket. “It must take them forever to get to the Opera House every morning.”

“Oh no, this is their country house. They come up here for holidays. They have an apartment in the city.”

“Oh.”

Christine leaned her head against the window, watching the white picket fences and the distant red barn houses fall back behind them.

“Why couldn’t we have had dinner there, instead of driving all the way out here? We’ve been on the road for like an hour.”

“I don’t know,” Raoul said, shrugging, but kept his hands on the wheel. “To show off, I guess.”

“Well, this dinner better be good, or I – COWS!”

Raoul leaned over, his eyes following Christine’s pointed finger to a field of black and white cows, grazing on the lazy pastures.

“Oh yeah! Look, Christine! There’s a baby!”

“Aww, so cu – Raoul! You’re drifting!”

“Aw shit, sorry!”

Quickly guiding the car back, Raoul ran a sheepish hand through his fluffy blond hair and laughed.

“Sorry about that!”

“Geez, you could’ve killed us,” Christine chided.

“My bad. It’s just...cows.”

Christine nodded knowingly.

“Cows are cool, yeah.”

Raoul looked cute today: his hair was kempt and shined in the golden sun; the red of his Harvard sweatshirt complimented his complexion really well; his charming eyes and winning smile lent him an air of youthful nobility. Christine pulled a compact mirror out of her purse and peered at her reflection.

She had woken up to a bad hair day; her attempts at styling and taming her excess frizz were futile, and she had just run out of her favorite hairspray. She had hurriedly thrown her brunette curls into a low ponytail on her way out the door when she realized she was running late, and now she couldn’t help but scrutinize the sloppiness of it.

“What’s wrong?” Raoul asked.

“Nothing,” Christine said, zipping up her purse and leaning back into her seat, picking at the pills forming on her oversized sweater. “Are you sure I – we’re not underdressed?”

“Nah, we’re fine. Andre said on the phone that this is a pretty casual thing, and that he’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans too.”

“Well, alright. But I still feel like I look like, you know, a slob.”

“Why do you say that?"

“I mean, my jeans are pretty baggy, and kind of old.”

“They’re definitely oversized, but they look fine to me.”

“And my sneakers look like dad sneakers.”

She lifted her foot up onto the dashboard to emphasize her point. Raoul chuckled.

“Yeah, they look like shoes Seinfeld wore. But isn’t that why you like them?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just feel like I should’ve chosen a more put-together look.”

“Christine.” Raoul reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a few gentle squeezes.“You look great today, even if you’re dressed like a dad from the 90s. You pull it off really well.”

“Thanks, Raoul,” Christine said, smiling softly. “But I’m still–”

“Hey, I’m wearing jeans too. And if it makes you feel better, we’re all gonna be underdressed compared to Carlotta.”

“Oh, I thought she wasn’t coming.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think she would either. I bet Piangi convinced her.”

“Probably. Well, it’ll be nice to see Meg, and everyone!”

“Yeah, it will. Oh! I think we’re here.”

Raoul leaned over, peering out his window to check the address on the wrought iron gate.

“Yeah, here it is. Need to enter the code,” he said as he drove up to the entrance and, pulling out his phone and unrolling the window, he leaned outside the car and began punching numbers into the pad.

“Don’t fall out,” Christine cautioned.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“You should’ve pulled in closer. You’re nearly halfway outside the car,” Christine laughed.

A beeping sound resonated from the number pad and Raoul pulled himself back inside.

“Don’t worry. I’ve done this before. I’m a pro.”

“At what? Not falling out of the car window?”

"Yep. I’m gonna get into the big leagues someday.”

The gate slid open and they passed through and followed the driveway, driving by a well manicured lawn spanning a couple of acres, interspersed with the occasional tree. The house wasn’t as far from the gate as Christine thought it would be, nor was it as huge as she had imagined it, but it was a still of a decently large size – a two story Georgian mansion, built of red bricks and lined with French windows. An impressive veranda, supported by Ionic marble columns, shaded the entrance and the small balcony above it. Christine gaped up at it as Raoul followed the curve of the driveway to the front of the manor, before coming to a stop behind a red Mercedes and black Honda.

“Hm, seems like the others are already here,” he observed as he put the gear in park.

“Oh, are we late?”

“No,” he said as he turned the car off and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Dinner isn’t for another thirty minutes. We’ll be fine.”

“Oh, ok. Let’s head i–”

“Wait.” Raoul gently grabbed her elbow.

“What’s up?”

“Where’s my kiss?”

“Oh, you,” Christine laughed as Raoul leaned in, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips met her cheek as she turned her head to the side.

“Wh–huh? Hey!”

Christine giggled. “Unlock the door!”

The front door opened to reveal Meg, who jogged down the steps and towards the car. She tapped on Christine’s window.

“What’re you guys doing in there? Making out?”

Christine stepped out of the car, quickly followed by Raoul.

“No, uh, we were jus–”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

Meg pulled her into a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you,” Christine said.

“Yeah, Happy Turkey Day,” Meg responded cheerfully.

She briefly greeted Raoul, pulling him into a quick side hug. Christine was extremely relieved to see her wearing a flannel shirt and ripped jeans. Raoul flashed her a knowing, ‘I-told-you-so’ look before taking her hand in his. They followed Meg up the porch stairs, which creaked under their enthusiastic steps.

“You guys came just in time. We’re about to put on Charlie Brown.”

“Oh, cool! I was gonna ask if we could watch it,” Christine said as Raoul stepped forward and opened the door for them.

“Yeah, good thing I brought it. Hey guys! Raoul and Christine are here!” Meg called out.

Christine wiped her shoes on the welcome mat, before stepping onto the laminate wood floor boards. The ceiling was very high, proudly displaying a small, crystal chandelier over the entrance hall. The walls were white and decorated with paintings that Christine could only assume cost a fortune. To her immediate left, she saw an entrance to what appeared to be a small library. To her right, a decorated dining room with a long cherrywood table, no doubt where they will be eating dinner.

Christine carefully hung her red scarf on the coat rack and followed Meg and Raoul down a brief, narrow hallway, before entering a modestly decorated, yet no less sophisticated, living room. A flat screen TV, displaying the menu screen for A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, was mounted on the wall above a marble mantle and roaring fireplace. Carlotta and Piangi sat on a leather couch, sipping from coffee mugs and chattering loudly. Madame Giry stood up from her place in an easy chair and made her way over to her daughter and the newly arrived guests.

“Hello, Christine and Raoul. It’s so good to see you,” she greeted warmly. She pulled Christine into a brief, yet comforting hug.

“Same. Happy Thanksgiving!” Christine responded. Carlotta and Piangi looked up.

“Hey, guys,” Raoul said. Piangi smiled and gave a small wave. Carlotta nodded her head, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh, hey there,” Andre greeted as he stepped into the room. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

He and Raoul exchanged a firm handshake, before clapping each other on the back.

“Fashionably late as always, de Chagny.”

“Oh, you bet,” Raoul laughed. “Where’s Firmin?”

“He’s in the kitchen; he’s too afraid to leave the turkey alone.”

“Oh, you’re cooking the meal yourselves?”

“We’ve had some much needed help from the Girys, but yes, we are.”

“Don’t you have servants?” Raoul questioned.

Christine side eyed him, nudging him with her elbow. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head.

“Oh, just for cleaning. Firmin prefers to cook himself; it’s a hobby of his.”

“Right,” Raoul said.

“Speaking of which,” Andre trailed off as he clapped the younger man on the back, leading him away from the living room. “We need a strapping young lad such as yourself to mash the potatoes for us.”

“Sure.” Raoul gave a quick backwards glance to Christine. He winked and flexed his arms. She shrugged with a small, amused chuckle.

“Oh, and Christine,” Andre called back from the kitchen. “We have water, soda, juice, and cold brews in the fridge, and there’s hot apple cider on the stove. Help yourself!”

“Thank you! Raoul, could you bring me some cider, please?”

She laughed when she heard an exaggerated groan from the kitchen.

Christine plopped down onto an easy chair. Meg joined her, sitting on the arm.

“Hey Piangi, hey Carlotta,” Christine greeted, turning around to face them. “You having a good time?”

“I guess,” Carlotta yawned. Piangi nodded, taking a sip from his mug.

“Let’s start the special,” Meg announced, hitting play on the remote.

“I’ve never seen this before,” Piangi said.

“You haven’t?” Meg asked, incredulously. “It’s so good! Right, Christine?”

“Yeah, but not as good as The Great Pumpkin.”

“True, but it’s not like we have a whole lot of Thanksgiving specials to watch.”

“There’s always the Macy’s Parade,” Christine said.

“Oh, I don't like it. Too commercial.”

“Meg! Be quiet so others can listen,” Madame Giry chided.

“Sorry, Mom.”

Raoul brought Christine a mug of cider, which she thanked for with a kiss on the cheek.

“God, get a room, you two,” Meg teased. Madame Giry shushed her.

The five of them watched the special mostly in silence, enforced by Madame Giry. Occasionally, Christine could pick out the conversation between the men in the kitchen; it usually constituted Firmin ordering them around, followed by Raoul’s petulant whining.

“Is it all just that girl inviting herself over for dinner?” Carlotta asked.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Meg responded. “The fun’s in how they deal with it, though.”

“What are they going to serve then, if they don’t have any food?”

“Watch and you’ll find out,” Madame Giry said.

“This is kind of boring,” Carlotta grumbled.

“Boring?! It’s a cinematic masterpiece!”

“Meg!”

“What, Mom? You seriously think Stanley Kubrick could’ve made a movie this good?”

“It’s not really a movie,” Christine corrected.

“Shh! I’m trying to watch,” Carlotta said.

Raoul stepped into the living room.

“Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Oh, good!”

“I’m starving!”

“Can’t wait!”

“We’ve just set the table, now it’s only a matter of getting everything on the platters,” Raoul explained.

“You’re such a good helper,” Christine praised.

“Yeah, I know, but I get the first helping,” he declared as he sat on the ground next to Christine’s chair. “Since I did all the work.”

“You did all the work? You only mashed some potatoes, and bitched about it the whole time.”

“Meg!”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“What time is it?” Carlotta asked.

“Oh, here I have it,” Christine said as she pulled out her phone.

She had made it a habit of hers to put her phone on Do Not Disturb when spending holidays with others, so she wouldn’t be distracted. While she had expected to have at least a couple of notifications, she was not prepared to see that she had 30 texts and 40 missed calls. All of them were from Erik.

“Uh, it’s 5:00,” Christine answered quietly as she unlocked her phone and checked the messages.

**Sent at 10:32 AM:**

**My Dearest Christine,**   
**I know you’ve told me that I don’t need to address you at the beginning of my texts, but I can’t help it. Old habits die hard, and you are very dear to me. Everything I say and send to you, whether in person or virtually, is a billet-doux for your ears only. Therefore, I hope you will excuse my habitual greeting.**

**Good morning, dear. How did you sleep? Did you have pleasant dreams? I sincerely hope so. I am not as fortunate; I did not sleep for very long last night – no more than 3 hours. I know this displeases you, for you have raised many concerns regarding my health and poor sleep schedule; and while I have tried to improve, for your sake, I find myself lapsing more often than not. I hope you can forgive me.**

**I hope you have a very pleasant day off. Please call me when you have the chance; there’s nothing I want more than to hear your voice.**

**With love,**

**Erik**

**Sent at 11:53 AM:**

**My Dearest Christine,**

**Is everything alright? I’ve noticed your read receipt hasn’t appeared. You are otherwise very vigilant and respond quickly. Is something happening today? Are you busy? Please text and/or call me when you have the chance.**

**With love,**

**Erik**

**Sent at 12:22 PM:**

**My Dearest Christine,**

**Is your phone broken? Did you leave it at home? Is your phone turned off? Have you misplaced it? I can call you and help you find it.**

**Please respond. I beg of you.**

**– Erik**

**Sent at 1:05 PM:**

**Christine,**

**I’ve called you 6 times already. Why aren’t you picking up? Are you okay?**

**–Erik**

**Sent at 1:30 PM:**

**I checked the calendar. Today’s Thanksgiving? You must be busy with preparations, I assume. Are you at home? I’m heading over.**

**–Erik**

**Sent at 1:43 PM:**

**You aren’t answering the door. Your car’s parked on the street. Where are you?**

**Sent at 2:01 PM:**

**You aren’t inside. Call me back.**

**Sent at 2:13 PM:**

**Christine, I’m worried. Please call me back.**

**Sent at 2:22 PM:**

**Did I do something to upset you last night? If so, I am deeply sorry. Please don’t ignore me.**

**Sent at 2:38 PM:**

**You must be visiting someone, yes?**

Christine scrolled through the barrage of texts, each similar in their concerned, urgent, interrogative nature.

**Sent at 3:58 PM:**

**My Dearest Christine,**   
**I’m alright now. I’ve managed to procure some information regarding your whereabouts and celebratory plans today. I was not made aware of Firmin and Andre’s party.**

**Their apartment was empty, so you must be at their country house. It’s a bit of a drive, but I’m willing to make it, if I might see you and spend a holiday in your company. I should arrive within an hour.**

**With love,**

**Erik**

“Christine, is everything alright?” Raoul asked. “You look worried.”

“Huh?” She was startled to attention. “Oh, no. I’m fine,” she laughed nervously. The others turned to stare at her. “I was just reading an email, that’s all.”

“Alright, friends!” Firmin entered the room with a clap of his hands, closely followed by Andre. “Dinner’s ready!”

“Woohoo!”

“Hell yeah!”

“Finally,” groaned Carlotta.

“Now, let’s head into th–”

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

A series of harsh, thunderous knocks reverberated through the house and echoed off the walls. Everyone paused, glancing towards the main door and exchanging confused looks. A moment passed.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

“Are there any more guests coming?” Raoul asked.

“No,” Andre said, shaking his head. “Unless you invited someone else, Firmin.”

“No, I didn’t invite anyone else. Did you?”

“No.”

“Did anyone invite a plus one and not inform us?” Firmin asked the group. Everyone shook their heads, murmuring ‘no’s’.

“Then, who could be at the door?”

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

"Should we answer?” Meg whispered.

Christine pushed past Raoul, tiptoeing tentatively towards the door.

“Christine, don’t answer the door!”

“It’s alright, Raoul.”

She turned the cold, brass handle and swung open the door.

The blazing red twilight glowed behind his tall, intimidating, yet impressive form. His black hair was neatly slicked and styled away from his sharp, angular face, porcelain mask, and handsome, fiery eyes. His black, fur lined peacoat hugged his frame, protecting him from the autumn wind. Christine bit her lip anxiously, meeting his eyes.

“Hello, Erik.”

His lips curled into a gentle smile. He took her hand in his and gave it a quick peck.

“Good evening, Christine. You look lovely,” he said, his eyes scanning her outfit. “And very cozy, too.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m a little underdressed.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You look wonderful. Perfect for a casual autumn evening, I might say.”

Erik glided past her and into the house, stripped himself of his coat, revealing his black, cashmere turtleneck and dark, tailored pants, and hung it on the coat rack. He sauntered towards the living room with a wine bottle in hand, his ankle-high, red-bottomed boots clacking against the wooden floors. Christine turned around to see everyone gaping at the new arrival. She slowly shut the door behind her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Raoul seethed.

“To partake in your celebration, of course. Here.” Erik calmly placed a wine bottle in Andre’s baffled hands. “An 1895 vintage. I believe it will compliment our dinner quite nicely.”

“Our dinner?! You weren’t invited!” Raoul cried.

“How the hell did you find out anyway? We – we took great efforts to ensure you wouldn’t! ”

“I suppose you didn’t try hard enough, my dear Firmin. Haven’t you learned by now? You can’t keep secrets from me.”

“Or maybe,” Carlotta trailed off, glaring at Christine, who shook her head and held her hands up defensively.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t invite him!”

“Leave! You weren’t invited, and are not wanted here,” Firmin commanded.

“How rude,” Erik said, pushing past him into the living room, scrutinizing the decor. “You’re turning me away now, after I’ve made the extremely arduous drive, solely to dine with you in this quaint, little...house.” He shook his head dismissively, gazing into the fireplace.

Erik’s eyes glowed a brilliant amber in the burning light; the shadows danced across his jawline and cheekbone, only serving to define his already sharp features. Christine casted a glance to the floor. Carlotta suddenly gave a thunderous cry.

“Make him leave!”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until we’ve had dinner.”

“Leave, or I’ll call the police,” Firmin threatened. Erik laughed.

“Go ahead. How long do you think it will take for them to arrive? 30 minutes? An hour? An hour and a half? We’ll be halfway through our meal by then, if not finished."

“You are not dining with us! You need to leave,” Andre cried.

“Do I need to leave as much as you need another shattered chandelier?”

Firmin sputtered and Andre gasped. Everyone exchanged nervous, wide-eyed glances. Erik clasped his hands behind his back, a self-assured smirk on his face.

“Do you need any more disasters beyond imagination? Does our resident toad need another croaking fit?”

“How dare you!” Carlotta cried, albeit with wavering confidence.

“Do we need those things? Or do we need a nice dinner and a relaxing evening? I know which one I’d pick.”

“Are you seriously threatening us over a Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Yes, Firmin. Have I mistaken you for someone with conversational comprehension skills?”

Firmin pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and let out a long exhale. Raoul stepped forward, drawing his fist back.

“Stop,” Christine exclaimed, catching Raoul’s arm. “Guys, can we please try to have a nice Thanksgiving? Let’s just… get through this together. Be civil and courteous, and that goes for everyone. No one’s gonna leave, so let’s just make the best of it.”

“Christine’s right,” Meg chimed in. “We came together to have a tasty dinner and, like, be thankful for what we have, or whatever. Let’s make it a good one.”

Everyone exchanged glances.

“Alright,” Andre sighed. “You can stay for dinner, but not a moment longer!”

“And don’t think this means you’re tolerated, much less invited next year,” Firmin added as he stomped towards the dining room.

“You have my word, and with that – oh! Before I forget, who’s the owner of the blue Bentley?”

“That would be me,” Raoul grumbled.

“You left your window unrolled.”

“Oh, ok. Thank–”

“And I may have dinged your car while parking.”

“What?!”

“You left me no room; it was a very tight fit. It may be best for the other motorists here if you moved your car.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I – ugh!”

Raoul stomped out of the living room, throwing open the front door and slamming it behind him. Everyone left a lingering glance, before making their way towards the dining room.

“Come now, Christine. Let’s get you something to eat,” Erik said affectionately, offering her his arm. She hesitantly took it with a trembling hand.

“Thanks. I’m uh, I’m sorry I didn’t respond. My phone was on Do Not Disturb.”

“It’s quite alright, my dear. But please, for the sake of my poor, old heart, check your messages every once in a while.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“He texts you?!” Carlotta exclaimed, bewildered.

“Yeah, and uh, sometimes, we call.”

“Can you believe this?” Carlotta glanced at the others. “Can you believe this little–”

“You–” Erik cut her off with his dark, thunderous voice. He squared his shoulders and leaned forward, meeting Carlotta’s fiery gaze with his own. “Choose your next words carefully.”

“Please,” Madame Giry interrupted. “Are we not supposed to be civil and courteous, as Christine requested?”

Meg and Christine exchanged anxious glances. Andre busied himself, pouring the wine with trembling hands. Firmin prepped his carving knife. Carlotta held Erik’s gaze, before sharply turning away, letting Piangi guide her towards a seat.

“Oh, Christine!” Meg quickly grabbed her hand and attempted a cheerful smile. “Let’s sit next to each other!”

“Yeah, let’s! I’ll take this middle seat.”

“You better be careful,” Meg said as she sat down in the chair to the left. “I might steal food from your plate!”

“Oh no, you wouldn’t! You better not,” Christine softly giggled.

“I could! I’ve got those ninja reflexes.”

“Yeah, right.”

Erik pulled out Christine’s chair for her, pushing her in when she sat down. She smiled, admiring the white china and the wine glasses. The golden turkey, the stuffing, the cranberry sauce, the mashed potatoes topped with chives – it all was mouthwatering in appearance and smell.

“Mm, this looks so good! Thank you for preparing this for us,” Christine complimented Firmin, who returned her praises with a curt nod. Erik took the seat to her right.

“I hope this food will be to everyone’s liking,” Andre said.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be. Besides, I’m starving!”

“Is that true, Christine?” Erik asked, casting a concerned glance her way.

“Yeah, kinda,” she laughed anxiously. “I, uh, well, when it’s Thanksgiving I usually don’t eat anything before dinner.”

“You haven’t eaten anything at all today?”

“I drank water, and had an orange for breakfast, but yeah, that’s it.”

“Well, we must fix you a plate right away. It is not good for Christine to go hungry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine, Erik. It’s a Thanksgiving thing–”

“Yeah,” Meg interjected. “Mom and I do the same thing. A lot of people do.”

“So you have more room in your belly for food,” Christine finished.

“Ah, I see,” Erik said, nodding. “You must forgive me. I am not aware of many Thanksgiving traditions; it is my first time celebrating, after all.”

“Oh really?” Christine asked. Erik nodded.

Madame Giry had taken her seat on the opposite side of the table from Erik, Christine, and Meg, sitting to the left of Carlotta and Piangi. After pouring the wine and water, Andre took his seat at the opposite end of the table from Firmin, who was standing before the turkey platter, a carving knife in hand. The front door slammed open and shut, followed by stomping and grumbling. Raoul stormed in, hair ruffled and face red.

“You call that a ding? Are you serious? You dented it! The right bumper’s crumpled, the paint’s chipped off!”

“I apologize.”

“Had no room?! You had so much space! You did that shit on purpose!”

“Again, I apologize. My old eyes must be failing me.”

“Asshole, you’re like 35.”

“Do I really look that young? You flatter me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Raoul! Please don’t yell,” Christine interrupted. “Let’s try to have a pleasant time.”

“Yes, listen to Christine,” Erik advised with a smile. Raoul rolled his eyes and tightened his jaw. Murmuring curses under his breath, he scanned the room and full dining table.

“Wait, where am I supposed to sit?”

Everyone glanced at each other, except Erik, who was taking languid sips of wine.

“Uh, well–” Andre began.

“There’s a couch in the living room,” Erik interrupted. Raoul sneered as he stomped over, glowering at the older man.

“Move. Your. Ass.”

“Now, why should I? And mind your language; it’s not becoming of a boy of your status.”

“You weren’t invited. That chair’s for me.”

“As I recall, there is no assigned seating, correct?” Erik asked Firmin, who slowly nodded his head. “Exactly.”

“Move,” Raoul commanded.

“No. I quite like this seat, and don’t direct your temper at me, boy. It’s first come, first served. You weren’t quick enough to claim the seat you wanted, so be a good sport.”

“Only ‘cause you wrecked my car!”

“Raoul!” Christine quickly stood up, catching his drawn elbow. “Do you have any other chairs, Andre?”

“Yes, we do have a couple at the kitchen table.”

“Here, I’ll go get you a chair, Raoul,” Christine reassured as she stepped out, shortly returning with a chair in hand. She set it down next to Meg. Raoul petulantly plopped down onto the seat as Andre hurriedly set some silverware, a new plate, and a glass of water and wine before him.

“Alright, see! Problem solved,” Christine cheered, although exhausted by the whole ordeal. “Now we can eat!”

The miasma cleared slightly at the prospect. People placed their napkins in their laps as Firmin began carving the turkey, asking each person whether they preferred light or dark meat. Erik had taken it upon himself to fill up Christine’s plate, asking her what she wanted and how much, only to add an extra helping.

“You know, I can always get another serving later,” she said as he returned her heaping, heavy plate to its rightful placemat.

“You’re starving, yes? You need to eat, and break your fast.”

She smiled at him, before digging into a juicy cut from the turkey leg.

The conversation had initially been sparse and awkward; Christine and Meg were doing most of the talking, with Erik occasionally chiming in. However, with the help of good food and wine, spirits were lifted, and the atmosphere grew friendlier.

“You know what I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving?”

“What’s that, Piangi?” Firmin asked.

“This delicious turkey.”

“Yeah, same! I can’t get enough of it,” Meg agreed as she dipped a cut of turkey into mashed potatoes and gravy. The others nodded, and gave their own compliments to the chef.

“Oh, thank you, everyone.”

“If you’re thankful for this turkey now, wait ‘til you see what Firmin and I have lined up for dessert,” Andre said.

“And what’s that?” Raoul asked.

“We have a lovely Black Forest cake–”

“Oh! I love Black Forest cake,” Christine gushed.

“And a delicious pumpkin pie, courtesy of Madame Giry.”

“Ah, I love pumpkin pie too! I better save room for dessert! Wait, do we have any more of that really good wine, Erik? It’ll go well with the cake.”

Erik smiled.

“No, unfortunately we just ran out,” Andre said, lifting the empty bottle.

“I apologize, dear Christine. Next time, I’ll bring another bottle. Perhaps a 1919 vint–”

“Next time?!” Carlotta screeched. “Next time?!”

“Carlotta, please,” Madame Giry whispered, casting an anxious glance between her and Erik. “Don’t say anything that will–”

“You cowards! All of you!” She pointed an accusing finger around the table. “You let him walk all over you! Next time?! There won’t be a next time, you weren’t invited in the first place! What makes you think we want you next time?!”

“Uh, Carlotta,” Andre began. “Let’s remain calm–”

“Calm?! You expect me to be calm?! When this man, I – urgh! Next time! Next time don’t let him stay and don’t invite her!” She jabbed her finger at Christine.

“Huh? Me? What did I do?!”

“You obviously invited him over! You can’t fool me!”

“I didn’t!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it,” she said, leaning forward and holding out her arm. “Let us read your texts.”

“Wha– No! That’s private!”

“Wait, you text him?!” Raoul exclaimed.

“Um… yeah.”

“Let me see! I wanna read what this bastard sends you.” Raoul leaned across Meg, reaching for Christine’s pocket.

“No! I don’t go through your phone, so don’t go through mine! I know this looks bad, but please!”

Christine pulled her phone out of her pocket, holding it away from Raoul, who grabbed her wrist.

“If you have nothing to hide, don’t worry,” he said as he pulled her wrist, knocking Meg’s drink over.

“What the hell, man?” she whined.

Erik stood up violently, nearly knocking his chair over. He pried Raoul’s hand from Christine, gripping it tightly. Raoul struggled, seething up at him.

“Get your hands off her! Christine, give me your phone,” Erik commanded.

“No! I’m not giving anyone my phone! Leave me alone!”

“I want to see!” Carlotta wailed, reaching over the table. Madame Giry and Piangi stood up, each grabbing onto one of her arms, only to be shaken off aggressively.

“Give me your phone!” Raoul and Carlotta cried in unison.

“Leave her alone!” Erik bellowed.

Meg and Christine ducked as Raoul threw his fist. Erik quickly caught it and twisted his opponent’s wrist until he gave a great cry. Quickly grabbing his wine glass, he splashed the dark red liquid into Raoul’s face.

“What the-?! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Not if I kill you first, insolent boy!”

Christine, with a great cry, ducked down and tore away from the table. Everyone turned to face her.

“Stop, please! I just, I just wanted to have a nice, fun day off! I wanted to spend a cozy evening with you all! I wanted to eat dinner and dessert and watch Charlie Brown and play games! Is that just too fucking much to ask of you people?! We just can’t make the best of a situation?! We just can’t get along for one day!”

Everyone froze, gaping at her in silence. Erik and Raoul still had their hands around each other’s throats; Meg was still crouched beneath the table; Andre and Firmin stood as still as statues by their chairs; Carlotta was still being held back by Madame Giry and Piangi, although she made no attempt to move.

“We just can’t put aside our differences! I just can’t have a fucking nice day with my co-workers and the people I care about, because we can’t fucking stand to be in the same room together!”

Meg stood up and opened her mouth to speak. Christine turned away sharply.

“I’m done with this bullshit. I’m gonna eat my dessert in the living room. Have fun fighting every five minutes without me.”

Christine stormed out of the room, fighting her stinging eyes and sniffling nose, internally kicking herself for losing her composure and screaming at everyone.

She plopped down onto the sofa just as she heard a familiar, smooth, yet oddly comforting voice mutter an ‘I’ll talk to her.’ She sulked as she listened to a rustling in the kitchen, accompanied by an opening of drawers and a clanking of plates. She heard someone step into the living room.

“Christine?” She turned to see Erik standing next to the couch, carrying two plates and two forks. “May I sit with you?”

She nodded. As he sat down next to her, he handed her one of the plates, which bore a slice of Black Forest cake and pumpkin pie.

“Here, you said earlier that you liked both.”

“Oh, yeah I did. Thanks,” she said as she took it. “You remembered?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled as she took a bite. “Mm, it’s really good.”

“It is. Very good.”

Christine turned to meet his gentle eyes, which glowed in the light of the dying fire. His hair, his clothes, his mask, everything about him, remained immaculate, elegant, and just plain perfect. She averted her eyes to the fireplace when she felt her cheeks flush, watching the smoldering orange embers.

“Sorry about what I said back there,” she said. “I really lost my cool.”

“It’s alright, darling.”

“It’s just, I’m just – God! I’m such a mess today.”

“No, you’re not. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Huh?”

“I arrived uninvited, I damaged the boy’s car, and I’m not exactly a… friendly conversation partner.”

“Erik–”

“I know I’m not popular with your colleagues and friends; the sole source of tonight’s discordance is me. I didn’t respect your wishes, and I’m sorry. You know it pains me to see you upset.”

“It’s… It’s fine. You said this is your first Thanksgiving, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never been invited to a Thanksgiving dinner before?”

“Do I look like someone who gets invited to things?”

“I mean, uh, I don’t know...But I’m not gonna hold it against you. It sucks to not get invited to things. It’s nice to feel included,” Christine said as she took a bite of pumpkin pie.

“Yes, but I always have to impose myself in order to be so.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m not mad anymore. I don’t know why. It’s just, you do a lot of shitty and irritating things–”

“Oh, ok–”

“But I just have a hard time staying mad at you, you know?”

Erik met her gaze.

“I don’t know, you just have a weird effect on me, if that makes sense.”

“Yes… yes it does. I – I feel the same way about you,” he whispered softly.

Christine bit her lip, looked down at her dessert, before giving him a small smile.

“But you might want to apologize to the others, especially Firmin and Andre.”

“I don’t particularly feel sorry for them, so no–”

“Erik!”

“What? If it’ll please you, I’ll pay for the repair of the boy’s car.”

“Alright, it’s better than nothing, I guess,” she chuckled. “You know what?”

“What, dear Christine?”

“I have an idea. Next year, I’ll have two Thanksgivings.”

“Two?”

“Yes. One with my friends and co-workers, and one with you. That way I can spend time with you all, but without the conflict and tension.”

“With me? Just...our dinner will be just the two of us?”

“Yeah, unless you want to invite someone–”

“No! No, just… I would like that very much.”

“I thought so,” Christine said, smiling. She looked to the TV, which displayed the menu for A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. “Have you seen this special?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“You wanna watch it together?”

“Yes, that sounds nice.”

“Hey guys,” Meg greeted as she stepped into the room, bearing her own plate of pie. “I want to sit with you. Is that cool?”

“Yeah, sure. C’mon over,” Christine said, patting the sofa cushion next to her.

“By all means, Miss Giry.”

“Are you starting up Charlie Brown?” Raoul asked as he entered with his own plate.

“Yeah, are you gonna sit with us?” Christine asked.

“Yeah, sure. I missed it earlier.”

He plopped onto the easy chair next to Erik. They didn’t so much as greet or look at each other, but they raised no quarrels.

“Since everyone’s here for some reason,” Carlotta said as she and Piangi entered. “We might as well have dessert here.”

Piangi sat on the other easy chair with Carlotta on his lap.

“Oh, ok. I suppose we’re going to eat here,” Andre said as he and Firmin entered, accompanied by Madame Giry.

“The dining room not to your liking?” Firmin asked, jokingly.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Christine reassured.

“But Charlie Brown’s in here, not there,” Meg said.

Madame Giry gave a gentle pat to Christine’s shoulder before sitting on the couch arm next to her daughter, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Andre sat on the floor with his back resting against the side of the coffee table, alongside Firmin.

“We’re all here. Start it, Christine,” Raoul said.

Christine hit play, and they passed the evening with multiple dessert servings, polite, amiable chatter and commentary, and in a quiet respite.


End file.
